


Aye, Aye

by mittens1997



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7858288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mittens1997/pseuds/mittens1997
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets himself trapped by hunters and naturally, Chris is the one to come bail him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aye, Aye

Chris drums his hands on the steering wheel. It’s 5 PM, rush hour, and even though Beacon Hills is relatively tiny, they get some traffic, too. Besides, Chris is trying to get _out_ of Beacon Hills, and so is basically everybody else. It’s Memorial Day Weekend, and no one wants to stick around.

            Chris had had plans with Allison. They were supposed to head to their old lakehouse for some father-daughter bonding time. Chris hadn’t been there since Victoria died, and was surprisingly quite eager to go. He had been in the process of packing when he’d gotten the phone call.

            _“We’ve got your wolf,” said a gruff voice, when Chris picked up the phone._

_Chris closed his eyes briefly. He knew exactly who that was in reference to. Fucking Peter Hale and his fucking inability to_ stay put _when Chris told him to._

_They were dealing with a threat from a neighboring pack, who wanted to claim Beacon Hills as their territory. Peter had suggested he meet with the pack on his own and reason with them, since he apparently used to date the alpha of the pack, a fact that Chris was most certainly_ not _perturbed by._

_Derek had told him that under no circumstances was he to go after the pack himself. But he had been distracted by Stiles when he had said it, and so all authority was out of his voice and Peter clearly wouldn’t have had a problem ignoring his alpha._

_As Chris gripped the phone in his hands, he realized exactly what was going on. The pack had stuck hunters on them._

_“He’s not my wolf,” Chris replied lightly. “Where is he?”_

_There sounded a laugh on the other end. “We’re not tryna fuck with you, Chris. We’re hunters that follow the code. There’s no need to worry. I just need you to tell me that he’s okay and have you come pick him up. You can take him home. It’s all cool.”_

Chris had wanted badly to believe that, but it was hard. So instead, he had agreed, thanked the man, and got his location. Which was why he was now on his way to _Peter_ , with a trunk filled with guns, instead of to his lakehouse, with a trunk filled with swimsuits.

            After another hour of driving, Chris pulled up to a house that reminded him unnervingly of the old Hale house.

            A man wearing combat boots and an army shirt greeted him.

            “The name’s Sam Jackson,” he said, his voice as gruff as it had been on the phone.

            “Chris Argent,” replied Chris.

            They shook hands. Chris knew of the Jacksons. They were everything Chris had wished his family had been.

            “We would’ve called his alpha, but he demanded we call you. He had you in his phone so we figured it was okay.”

            Chris remembered exactly how he got Peter’s phone number. After a pack meeting one night, Peter had had a bit too much wolfsbane-infused alcohol to drink, and he insisted on giving it to Chris for the “sole purpose of booty calls.” Chris hadn’t fought him very much.

            “Of course he did,” said Chris, forcing a laugh. That seemed to relax Jackson. “So where is he?”

            “Eating our food,” chuckled Jackson. “I can bring you to him, or him to you, or tell him you’re out here, or whatever’s easiest for you.”

            Chris surveyed Jackson. He was so eager to please. “I’ll come get him, thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

            “Oh, don’t be!” said Jackson, waving his hand. “He’s been a pretty good guest.”

            When Chris entered the kitchen of the house, he found Peter chatting animatedly to an extremely exasperated looking man, as he munched on what looked like fried chicken legs.

            “Oh, thank god,” the man said, when he saw Chris and Sam enter the room. “He’s all yours.”

            He gave Peter a tiny push in Chris’ direction.

            “Argent,” purred Peter, standing up and walking towards him. “I didn’t think you’d actually show.”

            “Let’s go, Hale,” said Chris gruffly.

            Peter’s eyes glinted. “As you wish.” He turned to the two men in the kitchen. “Thanks for your hospitality, boys. And, of course, for not killing me. Tell James that if he ever wants to test out those handcuffs, I’m just a phone call a—”

            Chris had placed a hand over Peter’s mouth, effectively shutting him up.

            “My apologies,” he said to the other hunters, who were watching Peter struggle against Chris’ grip with amusement.

            Peter gave a particularly hard wiggle, and Chris slapped at his right ear. “Oh, please,” he murmured, as Peter stilled. “You’re a werewolf. We both know you could get away if you wanted to. Now stay _put_.”

            Peter went completely limp in his hands, so Chris was left supporting Peter’s entire body weight. He heard a chuckle from one of the men in the room.

            “Really, Peter?” demanded Chris, raising an eyebrow.

            Peter simply shrugged.

            Chris bent forward and slung Peter over his shoulder.

            “Sorry to have disturbed you both,” Chris said to the hunters.

            “I’m not,” he heard Peter mutter.

            Chris was sorely tempted to swat at Peter’s ass. _He’s not yours_ , a voice in his head reminded him softly.

            Chris almost sighed. Because Peter _could_ be his, couldn’t he? _He_ was the one Peter had called. Well, the one he had told the hunters to call. Although that could have simply been because he didn’t want to get in trouble with Derek. Not to mention it seemed Peter was willing to fuck anything with a dick, so it didn’t necessarily mean he wanted Chris like Chris wanted him. After all, he consistently arrived at pack meetings looking disheveled and well-fucked.

            Chris shook himself of his thoughts as he opened the passenger door and shoved Peter inside. “Buckle up,” he growled at the wolf, and Peter saluted him with a smirk.

            They drove silently for a few miles, before Peter, who had been drumming his fingers on his leg and jittering his foot around broke the quiet.

            “Why did you come?” The question was soft.

            Chris glanced at Peter, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. There were so many things he could say— _I didn’t want to bother the kids_ ; _I don’t trust other hunters around wolves_ ; _I like you, you dumb fuck_.

            “You’re pack, aren’t you?” he said, after several beats, instead.

             Peter looked at him in surprise and sighed. “What are we doing here, Argent?” he asked.

            “I’m driving your sorry ass home.”

            Peter snorted. “Right.”

            Chris’ face heated. “What, Peter? You want me to tell you that I want to fuck you?” He didn’t know where that came from.

            Peter scoffed. “Already knew that, Argent,” he drawled. “Remember?” He tapped his nose. “Wolf nose.”

            Chris scowled.

            “What I don’t know,” said Peter slowly, “is how you want to fuck me.”

            Chris met his eyes for a moment. Peter’s were guarded, although Chris was sure he could see a glimmer of hope for a split second.

            Chris pulled the car over. There was barely any traffic, as no one was coming _into_ Beacon Hills for the holiday.

            “I want you on your knees, begging to suck my cock,” he said, facing Peter.

            Peter drew in a sharp breath. “That can be arranged.”

            “Can it?” said Chris, raising an eyebrow. “Because here’s the thing, Peter. If we do this, you’re mine. Got it? No more coming to pack meetings looking like you’ve just been fucked six ways to Sunday by some random deadbeat.”

            Peter hesitated, then nodded. “Just so you know, Chris,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt and crawling over to straddle Chris’ lap, “no one was fucking me. Well, except myself.” He let out a laugh. “I was thinking of _you_ fucking me.” He ground his hips in Chris’.

            Chris blinked, his breath catching in his throat. “Glad that’s settled. Now get back in your seat so I can drive us home to fuck you properly.”

            Peter smirked, climbed out of Chris’ lap, and rebuckled himself. “Aye, aye, captain.”


End file.
